“Thank you,” she repeated. “For being . . . such a good friend.”
Friend.The word had been barely a whisper, and yet its echo seemed to fill the room with a thrumming that reverberated right down to the marrow of his bones.
Wrexford shifted, trying to shake off the sensation. And yet, after several slow, thudding heartbeats, honesty compelled him to admit that his feelings for Charlotte had somehow become far more than mere friendship.
“Wrexford . . .”
He looked up.
“You . . . don’t seem yourself.”
I’m not—and perhaps I’ll never be quite the same.
She edged around the table, closing the space between them, and to his surprise reached up to place her palm against his cheek. The warmth of her skin sent sparks shooting from his scalp to his toes.
Without thinking, he covered her hand with his. They stood for a long moment, still and silent, before he reluctantly released her and drew back a step.
“I’m simply fatigued, that’s all,” he murmured.
Charlotte nodded and quietly returned to the task of straightening up the table. “So, is there anything else we need to discuss?” she asked after carefully arranging the cups and pot on the tray. “Otherwise, I suggest you return home and get some sleep.”
“I think not,” replied the earl. “Our strategies are in place.” He made a small farewell gesture and started for the door. “We shall see how they play out.”
* * *
Shaken by her confrontation with Wrexford, Charlotte found herself too on edge to sleep. At the top of the stairs, she turned sharply, heading into her workroom instead of her bedchamber. It had certainly been a night of revelations, though how they would all intertwine was impossible to predict.
Truth and lies, with no way to discern one from the other.
As for the personal conundrums . . . Charlotte pressed her palms together, aware of the raspy warmth lingering from Wrexford’s bristled jaw. How could he be so hard and yet so soft?
Questions, questions—her emotions were too tangled to try to sort out right now.
Instead, she took refuge in the murder investigation. Theremustbe a way to put her intellect to work. After pacing backand forth, she took a seat at her work desk. Exhaling a breath, she opened one of the drawers and took out the copy of the numbers Wrexford had found in Hollis’s rooms.
Simple symbols, wrought clearly in black on white. Charlotte squinted. Surely she should be able to see some sort of clue, some sort of pattern. Picking up a pencil, she made a stab at converting the numbers to letters.
Gibberish.
Defeated, she slumped back in her chair.
“M’lady?”
Raven’s cat-footed stealth was always a little unnerving, but his sudden appearance just an arm’s length away nearly caused her to jump out of her skin.
“Sorry,” he apologized, stepping back so quickly that tea sloshed over the rim of the steaming mug cradled in his hands. “I—I just thought ye might want something hot te drink.”
“How thoughtful! Indeed I do.” Charlotte patted the desktop. “Come, put it down, before you burn your fingers.”
As soon as he did so, she drew him into her arms, no matter that he usually shied away from hugs. She suddenly needed to feel the softness of his cheek and the reassuring thud of his heart through his shirt. How quickly he was growing out of childhood. He’d been all skin and bones when they first met. Now his scrawny body was filling out with frightening speed and he was shooting up like a weed.
In another year . . .
“Oiy.” Raven shifted uncomfortably. His cheeks were tinged with red, but a flicker of a smile softened his grunt.
Charlotte reluctantly loosened her hold.
“Are ye snuffling?” he asked in sudden alarm.
